


Tethered Together

by whorerormovie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Blood and Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Unsafe Sex Practices, around 100 years after grondor, post apocalypse make do, post post timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorerormovie/pseuds/whorerormovie
Summary: “I know I’m being selfish...” Claude’s other hand goes to the back of Dimitri’s head and pulls out the hairband that secures his half ponytail. His hair falls gloriously over his eye, blue like a river the yellow of his hair beams like gold. He’s drawn to it so he grabs fistfuls of it, desperate in his want, in his need to be near the other. “I know I cannot expect much from you, but-“ his hands slide down, relinquishing his hold momentarily until he’s able to cusp the would-be king’s face. An angular shape fits so nicely within his grasp. Skin to skin, it feels personal, more personal than they have any right to be.--Claude and Dimitri wake up 100 years after the Apocalypse and navigate their new life.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	Tethered Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marlemarle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlemarle/gifts).



> For Marlon @rawmettwurst who made the AU! Feel free to ask him anything should questions come up!

They exist in what feels like the remnants of a forgotten world. 

Claude remembers the plentiful waters that used to line the shores and how the waves frolicked in the distance. Glimmer turned white as foam dolloped over the crescendoing water as it moved to and fro. 

He remembers the blue of the sky, and how it completely opposed the red of the land below, bloodshed, fires, all the consequence of war. The sky’s cool tones sat with no form of shading, no depth, Claude was never the wiser as to how endless the sky truly was, and yet, he always felt small in comparison, his problems insignificant.

When the sky morphed into the night it held on to very stars and moon, and when the time came to shed its moon for the sun, it carried that too. No wonder that years later it had collapsed from too great a burden. Claude’s plight is nothing when compared to such an immense burden. 

Now he has to pick up the pieces from that shattered sky. He owes it to the past: his friends and himself. To make a future worth living, so that no sacrifice had to be done in vain. Hilda, Marianne, he thinks of them both. They strengthen his conviction, for it is in their memory that he will shoulder the weight of the new world. 

His fingers in this present time glide over the ridges of a braid. Locks of pink, blue and brown joined into one, becoming uniformed as the bits of hair were secured tightly to his scalp. The pads of his fingers have memorized the various textures, he’s able to identify the owner by a mere trace. Marianne’s hair is finer but much coarser in comparison to the other two, she never applied much care, never stuck to a routine. Hilda, on the other hand, did. Her long and beautiful tresses were always styled to perfection, never a strand out of place, it was the only thing about her that was truly impeccable. Unlike Claude’s hair, that always sprung out from a multitude of directions, a symbolism of his frayed mind. 

Touching the braid helps the archer destress, bringing forth a sensation of ease into a fragile exoskeleton. Bones are shards of glass compacting into a figure, frail in posture when the manifestation of his guilt gnaws at his mind. In these moments of anxiety, when his fine fingers tune the frills of hair that come after the band, it feels as though Marianne and Hilda are with him in present. He misses them, so much so that they come to him in visions, help him fill the gaps of empty space found in this vacant world. 

When they are around he is reminded of who he used to be, a leader, without them he is just another vagabond traveling through fallen-cities. Without them, he is reminded that he alone brought ruin into the world. His ambitions brought the world to a halt in a decade’s time. He could have prevented this chaos, but he had to have everything, he had to have _him,_ and so his selfishness consumed the whole world. 

The twirling of hair can be considered flirtatious, but at this very moment, it exists to quell the anxiety. His finger loops around the hair, each individual fiber straining against his skin as he tugs. Claude feels a touch, layered and heavy, it is an anchor that drags his hand out of his hair and down under, down, down, down, until it reaches depths where no light may enter. 

Dimitri had claimed his wrist, his fingers latching tightly until Claude’s hand went numb. Dimitri had said nothing, hasn’t said anything since they woke from their hundred-year slumber, doesn’t need to say anything when he can command Claude’s attention with just a touch. His face had replaced the smiling expressions of the deceased, and instead, showed a frown carved deep, upsetting the meeker spirit of a certain Von Riegan. The man of Blaiddyd's blood is amused by nothing. The stark incline of his brow expresses annoyance, his sour disposition amplified by the umbra beneath his working eye. With the other eye, there is no telling what secrets are kept in it, for it is eclipsed underneath an eyepatch. 

An eclipse, what a wondrous way to describe the man. With small steps he stands before Claude, the light he absorbs is shed in the form of shadows, looming over a prince uncrowned. Intensity within volatile sapphire, Claude is fully aware that Dimitri could eat him whole, and he for one, wouldn’t mind. 

Those teeth of his have claimed him before, sharp and invasive they nicked the skin and sucked at the welts until luscious raspberry tints decorated his entire frame. He could be rough, yes, but he could also be gentle. His hands had rummaged inside him, fingers long and pleasureful spread him open until he had Claude drooling from the waist down, spilling his essence prematurely. He had taken Claude into his mouth and made a home for him there, made him sing praises until Claude painted the walls of his mouth white. Earthquake, blissful tremors, he had Claude shaking in every occasion. 

They were intimate during their youth but nothing became of their passionate affairs. It wouldn’t work, he told Dimitri, and Dimitri accepted. Still, despite being the one who refused initially, he found it impossible to let Dimitri go. 

Claude truly believes that his obsession for Dimitri was a catalyst for the apocalypse. He couldn’t let him go, he wanted to be with him. He’d lived five years without his prince, he didn’t want to risk another five. So they fled, separated from the army, and somehow they ended up in stasis for one-hundred years. Everyone and everything they knew was gone, a figment of the past, a memory. They are paradoxes. Knots in the flow of time that now must find a way to return to their home, together.

But Dimitri, he does not want togetherness. 

And frankly, it’s infuriating how Dimitri can be so close, and yet, feel so far. Personal, and at the same time, impersonal. Dimitri is unshaken, their history does not affect him, does not move him like it does Claude. He does not want Claude, and it hurts to know that whenever Dimitri looks at him, it is never with desire, only contempt.

The late prince of Faerghus always had the ability to keep Claude wanting, even when he shouldn’t, even when he doesn’t deserve it. After what he’s done, he deserves only hatred. And he would take it, wantonly, because it’s Dimitri’s, because he wants him. The good, the bad, he wants it all as long as it’s Dimitri’s. Wants it around him, inside of him, on him, near him, everywhere, until Dimitri’s hatred is his own. Until he hates himself as much as Dimitri hates him.

Claude has lost focus, too much of it, but cautiously, Dimitri has regained it for him. His fingers uncurl, managing to release the wrist from its binds. The taller man looks then at another woman, a brunette with mid-length hair, the fringe of her hair hangs gently above her delicate blue eyes. Her eyes resemble ice, but only in color because her stare is warm, like melted ice.

_Oh right, he was in the middle of negotiations._

Conversation is Claude’s expertise. He’s proficient when it involves information gathering, not so much when it comes to the negotiations themselves. “With all due respect, this won’t be enough to cover our services.” He looks at the coins presented with mild unease. The people of this village lead a hard life. Buildings a century-old stand derelict off a beaten path. The animals of this place, skinny with hunger amidst infertile lands. He found the humans to be in similar standing, far too weak to fend off beasts, far too malnourished. 

The shop owner admits that the land here is infertile, and since they cannot feed from the land they must hunt. Which leads them to their current predicament. 

“This is all there is.” A simple answer, more simple than it has any right to be. “I wish I could offer more but we don’t get a lot of commerce. The beasts, they come often, and they are numerous. Many of our best hunters have died to them, the rest of the lot are unwell.” The seller gathers the silver coinage and places them on a pouch, she did not hide the disappointment. 

The dwellers of this time are more expressive, he notes, far more honest with their feelings - they have nothing left to lose. “We hunted game in the nearby forest until the beasts took residence within the said forest.” She shakes her head, hinting at the unhappy conclusion to her story. “No more animals, the beasts, they ate them, and when they had nothing else to eat they turned to us.” She takes a breath before proceeding. “They attack the village in waves, each time depleting our numbers and our reserves. Some of our people became desperate in their hunger and began to hunt and eat the beasts. They are unwell now.”

Such desperation in the face of extinction. The need for survival will push people to do the unthinkable, and he finds that he cannot fault them for that. They’re one in the same, survivors from both timelines threading a dangerous path just to simply survive.

In good conscience, he cannot take advantage of their vulnerability. Should not ask for more when they’ve got nothing to give. But, he had not been lying earlier, the task at hand is too much for such meager pay. Food, clothes, and shelter, these are things that require upfront payment, no one would give them these things at no cost. They have weapons to maintain, items to buy, traveling is expensive and there’s just no way around that fact. 

And yet, Claude is compelled to help. 

“We’ll do it for silver and a place to stay for the night. Keep in mind that we’ve agreed to no simple task. For everyone’s benefit, it will be best if we are well-rested, wouldn’t want to disappoint in battle.” If this place were far better off he would request a meal as well, but considering the circumstance, he won’t force the people to give what little they have in food. 

Dimitri grunts in the background. He knows the blonde is not pleased, no matter, he’ll handle the tantrum later.

“You have our thanks, hunters, I will try my best to accommodate.” The shopkeep says, opening the pouch again and emptying half of its contents. Silver spills in forms of coins, with time they too have aged, become eroded. “You will get half now, the rest will come after the job is done.” Precautions, Claude doesn’t take it too personally. He would have done the same in his youth as untrusting as he was.

“You drive a hard but reasonable bargain, miss.” A wink with no actual intent behind it, just a part to play in this facade. The presence of blush is slight on her cheeks adding color to ivory tones. Claude smiles at her, the intensity of his eyes causes the shade of crimson to deepen on her heated face.

Dimitri slams his hand on the counter startling them both. Claws borne from nail carve slivers into the wood as he collects payment. He meets both their bemused expressions with a scowl. 

Patience is a virtue, how unfortunate that Dimitri did not become a virtuous man over time.

Thankfully they did not have to wait long, the shopkeep made quick work of finding them a place to sleep in. The girl was kind enough to provide them some chairs and blankets for the night, a basin of water also made its way in at one point. During her short visit, she had informed them that this place was used for storage, hence the lack of literally anything, _as barren as her land_ , she had passed it as a joke but the struggle in her voice had told Claude there was more to it. 

What came after her departure was the silence shared between the two males. 

A room isn’t a word that comes to mind to describe it, this is simply a place voided of anything homely. Stone walls stacked several feet high, higher than Dimitri, an ox of a man, could reach. The roof had collapsed previously, perhaps many years prior to their arrival, the hole above is the only thing that sheds light within this dark capsule. No windows, no electricity, no running water, a place designated to literally sleep in. The door is wooden and in shambles, Claude’s morals prove to be sturdier than it. 

The light of the sun skirmishes behind moving clouds. The hole above is agape, capturing the moment daylight is chased away by the promise of night. A light that once shone is replaced by empty air, bringing coldness alongside the muted grays of the sky above. It will rain, forcing the plump snow to become slick and frozen overnight. 

“It beats sleeping outside,” Claude says aloud, enjoying the sound of his own voice because Dimitri will not retaliate. His head cranes back to continue looking above with wanderlust eyes.

A step, it catches his attention. Claude shifts his gaze with a turn of the head, emerald irises moving to the corner of his eyes to capture the image of Dimitri as he peels his cape away. There’s nothing special about this, but the way Dimitri tosses his cape over the chair and it topples over makes Claude’s heart grow fond. It reminds him of the days in which Dimitri struggled with delicate tasks and how Claude simply encouraged him to let go and let live by practicing on him.

**He took that time for granted.**

Dimitri sat upon the chair, attempting his best to undo the braid that Claude styled. The movements of his fingers are callous, tugging away at strands of hair instead of undoing the binds. His method is painful but judging by his unphased reaction, he’s numb to the pain. Golden strings fall, minimal traces of hair fall to his lap as Dimitri continues his reckless acts.

“Let me.” Claude could watch no longer, he approached the seated male with slow steps, allowing the other to process his arrival. With his opposing hand, Claude strips away the fingerless glove of his right appendage, a nude sight when his right-hand reaches up. Like a dove flying into the sun, the warmth of Dimitri’s calp welcomes him. Dimitri simply stares, taking in the sight before him as bronze fingers dwell into his hair. The blonde’s expression is stagnant, choosing only to focus on Claude’s face, and how his features are unmarred compared to his own. Soft of texture, even the hairs that lined his mandible appear soft, just like the heart that beats inside so tender. 

Dimitri’s lips part, not to speak, but to give life to the breathiest sigh as Claude works his scalp. He had pulled out the hairband and undid the braid from the bottom up to prevent any tangles. He’s meticulous, making sure his movements don’t bring the other any pain. He takes his time and allows time for his fingers to massage the sore area where the braid once laid. Small circles pressing in, the hairs curling around his fingers as if wanting to be maneuvered by him.

Dimitri spreads his legs, the space between them wide enough for Claude to come through, and so he does, takes one step towards the precipice and finds himself falling only to be caught by Dimitri. His hands firm at his sides as thumbs press inward into the hip bone. Claude’s knee rests on the seat of the chair, or rather, what little space was given. 

“I know I’m being selfish...” Claude’s other hand goes to the back of Dimitri’s head and pulls out the hairband that secures his half ponytail. His hair falls gloriously over his eye, blue like a river the yellow of his hair beams like gold. He’s drawn to it so he grabs fistfuls of it, desperate in his want, in his _need_ to be near the other. “I know I cannot expect much from you, but-“ his hands slide down, relinquishing his hold momentarily until he’s able to cusp the would-be king’s face. An angular shape fits so nicely within his grasp. Skin to skin, it feels personal, more personal than they have any right to be. 

What had transpired between them happened ages ago, and that’s what hurts Claude the most, to know that all of it is now history. Dimitri doesn’t look at him, he looks through him, and it hurts.

“I am just so lonely.” He forces Dimitri to look into his anguish as it visibly forms into a tear. Claude tries his best to keep it together, but the water in his eyes, the clenching of his jaw, they’re all cracks in his perfect appearance. He caves into the overwhelming feeling of emptiness, knowing that nothing awaits him there just like nothing awaits him here.

His eyes. His eyes are those of a man who died twice. 

Years of hurt unleashed at this moment. He is aware that this is unfair to Dimitri, that this all began in his homeland, a homeland that neglected him. He had found strength within that neglect quite some time ago, and with it tried to change his birthplace, to change the world for the better. Now he isn’t sure his homeland exists, isn’t sure he wants it to exist in a world that has become so calamitous. 

Claude is then led by the hips to take rest on Dimitri’s lap, his knees bent on Dimitri’s sides, saddling on his lap. He expected words to be said, anything that could explain this sudden shift, but Dimitri didn’t provide clarification and so Claude’s tears were left to roam freely down his face. He felt Dimitri’s hands move up at his sides. His hands are so much bigger than before. He feels the fingers sprawl atop the fabric, Dimitri pulls him closer then, slotting them together until Claude covers him, or Dimitri covers him, at this point Claude cannot tell which is which.

A shiver goes up along Claude’s spine, causing goosebumps to rise on his flesh. Whether it was intentional or not, that pull caused them to grind against one another, he tries to think nothing of it, even as he begins to feel the beginning of Dimitri’s intent. Claude’s breath is slow, controlled, and hands still full with fistfuls of hair. His grip becomes tighter as he tries to get his bearings, resting his forehead against Dimitri’s. 

When his breath draws out, Dimitri draws in, inhaling him. **They share the same breath.** Their bodies fall into old habits, reenacting scenes from a past neither wish to forgo. 

“Dimitri.” Barely a whisper, his response to Dimitri’s hands leaving him to lay claim to his hair. Brown locks clasped tightly by a dominant hand, Dimitri held him still as he began to lick his tears away. The flat of his tongue, lukewarm wet as it drags upwards, rebranding the tears with saliva. Dimitri kisses the eyes when he gets too close to them, presses his lips lightly to the corners preventing the tears from coming out altogether.

Claude has to relearn what Dimitri’s touch feels like, because now he feels like a different man, _is_ a different man.

“Please,” Claude begs. He doesn’t know what he’s begging for but Dimitri does. Dimitri understands Claude in a way he himself does not. 

Albeit a momentary thing, their lips crash together, forming into a deep kiss. Tongues meet hurriedly, like a dance, one leads and one follows. Claude takes lead, pushing his tongue inside Dimitri until he can taste the salt of his own tears. When Dimitri’s tongue pushes back, he allows it, feeling the wetness pass his lips, Claude seals his lips around Dimitri’s tongue and sucks. 

They share the same taste, share the same breath, in time they’ll share the same scent.

Dimitri moans and that riles something within Claude. His hands become slack, descending until they come to clasp the nape. Claude’s hips move in a rapid burst against Dimitri. He wants to be closer. His needs reach that satisfaction every time lips press on the skin. It’s rough, it’s friction, **it’s** **physical** , that’s all they’ve ever had, too afraid to delve into anything else, too afraid to make anything more out of it.

Short blonde strands became jumbled within his grasp when he felt Dimitri’s hands on his back, pulling him closer until they were taut against one another. Chest to chest, he controls Claude by setting the distance between them, and right now, there is none. Seconds turn into minutes as Claude’s mouth hangs over him, tantalizing, gasping for breath with the occasional sigh hitching out across his lips.

With this kiss, Dimitri rushes over him like a wave and took his breath just the same. Their bodies move like water against one another, the push and pull of the tides, coming together in ripples.

They would not sleep hungry tonight, for tonight they use one another to sate their hunger. 

  
  
  
  


The hours following the night were difficult. Claude finds himself unable to sleep inside a closed space, having slept in the wilds for so long, the silence of the indoors fills him with paranoia. Out there are many sounds that would keep one awake and vigilant, the perfect excuse to miss out on sleep, and force his mind to solve the paradoxes of time. However, on the inside, nothing exists but the calm breathing of two people. And yet, somehow that’s louder on Claude’s ears compared to anything else. 

_It irritates him._

Sleep should come easier this time around. He has a roof over his head and other commodities to make the night bearable. Simply said it is the best accommodation the pair have had in weeks, but still, sleep manages to elude him. 

He knows the reason, it’s laying right next to him in the shape of a man. Both bodies lay back to back, sharing a set of blankets and when even that didn’t prove enough against the lower temperature, Dimitri’s cape was half hazardously thrown over them. The bicolored fur sits flat on his cheek, the thick hairs pushing into his nostrils with each inhale he takes. _It even smells like Dimitri._

Claude closes his eyes and pretends the weight of the cape is Dimitri’s body enveloping him. When pulling the cape tighter he pretends the squeeze is from Dimitri’s arms keeping him safe, and most importantly, warm. He hopes this thought would be never-ending, like a promise. A king makes many promises. One such promise is to serve and protect his people, his kingdom. Claude is not part of Dimitri’s kingdom, he is of Almyrian blood, so he is promised nothing and so is owed nothing.

Claude expects nothing because he was never given anything. Everything that he has he’s had to fight tooth and nail for. His survival through the ages should be ample proof of that, but now he’s gained a new perspective. Their names have faded with history. Time has forgotten them for one hundred years, and by extension, so has everyone else. No princes, no expectations, there is only Claude Von Riegan and Dimitri Alexander Blaiddyd, and they are finally free to choose their fate. 

The thing is Claude Von Riegan cannot choose because he wants **everything**. He wants his past, wants to undo his present, and most importantly, wants a future alongside Dimitri. 

Thoughts like that do not seem so foolish anymore, not after tonight. Both their guards came down and although he may not know where that leaves them, he knows that Dimitri has been just as lonely, if not more so. That no matter how distant or silent he is, he has carnal desires just like any other. And he will come to Claude when it happens because there is no one else who understands. They only have each other, fragments of a forgotten time. It’s selfish, yes, so very selfish to want to be the object of his desires. After tonight he sees the cracks in Dimitri’s armor. He will make the cracks bigger. Rip the armor piece by piece until he finds a semblance of the young boy he fell in love with.

Even if the love isn’t mutual now, even if it’s only physical, Claude just doesn’t want to be alone anymore. 

  
  
  
  


Cold air falls through the rooftop, sheathing him in a thin layer of ice. White of snow covers his sleeping outline, the chill that comes off stirs him awake in a fit. Claude is not made for the cold. This body of his was made to soak up the sun, not hide from it. 

Shivers run up the spine, his teeth clamor as a result. The temperature drop intensifies without Dimitri’s cape. It must have slid off, or in mid-slumber, Dimitri might have reached for it. It belongs to him after all, it is his property and in under no obligation to share it. And yet, Dimitri always did. His sleeping bag, for one, he shares with Claude when they sleep under the same sky.

Tonight, there is no sky above them, only wood that barely clings to the nails it’s hammered down with. Because of this shelter, they sleep with a distance between them. Distance, he’s used to distance, used to keeping others away, he’s good at that. However, what he isn’t good at is closing the distance. To be vulnerable in the eyes of another.

Claude turns his body and what he finds is shocking, better yet, what he doesn’t _find_. Dimitri is absent and in the dead of night no less. Instinctively his fingers clutch at his dagger’s pommel as he waits for his eyes to adjust in the darkness. Ever wary of moving shadows. 

**His paranoia will never meet an end.**

Here what he knows for certain. He is alone and daylight has not broken out yet. It is not unusual for Dimitri to wander off when he feels overwhelmed. His body tends to drift just as his mind does, but he’s never done so without Claude’s awareness. He should go out and look for Dimitri, but the logical side within him urged the opposite. _Give him space_ , he thinks, chasing after him will only complicate things. And even if he does go after him, it is nearly impossible to do so now. At this hour it’s incredibly difficult to see, much less track any footprints. Because of that, he decides to wait until daybreak to begin his search. Claude’s only hope is that he makes it back before then.

He does not.

At the first sign of daybreak, Claude began his lonesome travel, in search of his missing piece. He left where the whispers led him to. Villagers rumoring about noises they heard last night. Others claimed to see a big burly shadow stalking their decrepit town, wandering the paths aimlessly. Whenever he inquired he was always told something different, gave him no clear indication of where to begin, and it’s not like he could track the footprints when fresh snowfall erased any tracks.

Then an elder woman mentioned the forest. She admits she never saw the man whom he was looking for but nevertheless gave an idea to where he might be. She was aware of their occupation, and that they agreed to take care of the infestation in the forest, it only makes sense that he’d be there, but she discouraged him from going. 

“If your friend is indeed there then he has died at the hands of the demon. No sense for another young life to be lost for the sake of silver.” She reasoned. Seasoned in grim tales she paints a picture of the horrors that have befallen her town. All to give him a reason to quit, but he shall not, she doesn’t know Dimitri as he does. Dimitri won’t die to whatever is in that forest. Still, her last set of words did not sit well with him. 

According to the woman, the forest is quite a distance away on foot, and thus heeded Claude to take some portable water and food. He had no food so she gifted him a morsel of stale bread. The villagers needed food more than him, that much is true, but he couldn’t deny the hunger a second time under the guise of modesty.

She had been right, it is a long path on foot. Every space of landscape is bone dust as far as he could see. This new world, although not new at all, continues to give him new sights and experiences. In his months of traveling alongside the Faerghus heir.

They’ve seen mountain groups towering above high plains across regions, giving new meaning to the muted colors of eroded rock and minerals. Side by side they’ve walked through alternate geographies that they’ve come to know in the past. Once scenic escarpments become replaced with collapsed rubble, their slopes lost alongside time. It saddens him to know that the deep fault valleys of this era no longer match the green of his eyes, instead, the pasture has been reduced to nothing, leaving behind a surface so dehydrated that footprints don’t even leave indents.

There’s civilization in very few places. The roads that lead to these places, however, are void of life itself. Very seldom has he witnessed trees that bore fruit. Ashen and brittle, a framework of sticks that couldn’t support his weight if he decided to climb. He thinks of Petra now of all times, remembering how she taught him how to climb. 

Claude halts in his steps and takes a moment to breathe. Air enters his lungs through deep breaths, but it feels as though his chest doesn’t expand fully. He’s feeling short of breath. The air, there’s less of it here, it feels thinner. Nevertheless, he has to be persistent.

From a distance, he sees an accumulation of mammoth-sized trees. Enormous from a distance, he can only imagine what they would be like up close. He will say this, the closer he gets the more striking they become. The lack of leaves made the branches look like witches' hands, with fingers thin and wicked, they twitched unexpectedly with the wind. 

The snow, it paints them white in soft strokes. When he approaches the trees he is met with an uncomfortable silence. His gloved palm touches the bark, seeping courage from the trees dried roots and hoarding it for himself. Claude looks up, wondrous in his gaze because from this angle he cannot see the top. 

After a moment his feet carry him inside. Fatigued in his movements, his hands go into the quiver, where the pads of his fingers follow the curve of his arrow’s fletching. He counts them, a total of 6, which is not a lot. He draws one out and places it slack against the arrow rest of his bow. He’s very much aware of his short supply and if the beasts are as massive as the trees, or are too many in number, it’s going to be a difficult fight even, with his hand axe.

The more he walks, the smaller he feels since the shadows of the trees entomb him. Opaque pigments of black cover him entirely when the space between each tree becomes smaller, causing his body to become colder. Here the sun’s light is less bright, obscured by the many branches high above. As a result, it reduces the visibility below. 

With time he’s found claw marks embedded deep within the trees. Fissures inches deep broke through nature’s armor, a feat his axe could never accomplish. 

This is when Claude swallowed nervously for what is to come. 

He finds carcasses as empty as the ruins he’s trespassed. Bones with no skin or muscle hanging from them, everything’s been cleaned with an animalistic hunger that left even the bones deformed. _The animals._ He’s walked by countless slaughtered beasts too. Viscera on full display through acts of slashing and stabbing. Tattered organs showcasing through broken skin, there is no conscience just carnage here. A lack of malodor informs him that the bodies are still fresh so he assumes it to be the work of Dimitri.

Claude continues his journey deeper into the forest. 

Flakes of snow falls from the sky above. Their slow descent captured by the fabric of Claude’s cape. A green cape peppered in white, just as his hair had done the same. 

“Claude!” He hears a yell from the distance. No doubt about it’s Dimitri’s voice, even if in technicality he hasn’t heard it in one-hundred years. Astonished by the revelation his eyes widened, bewilderment caught in the green of them. “Dimitri!” Claude reciprocates, his voice echoing in the forest. Steps take him far, cautiously maneuvering over uprooted roots and other debris. It’s not a run as much as it is a sprint, but even that is too much to handle as his chest begins to ache. Claude stops for a moment to catch his breath, shoulders rise, and fall from the movement. The spore in his lung takes a toll on his body, forcing him to short bursts of activity at a time. 

How this came to be he is unsure, but when he awoke from his stasis he had done so with vines growing into his mouth, stretching down his throat and ensnaring his lungs in the process. It is magic in nature and certain that it left spores that would manifest into vines and coil around his pulmonary organs. 

“Cl...aude.” 

Dimitri’s voice is strained but more audible, he sounds closer, knows he is closer when he spots a moving figure behind the trees. Claude was going to call out to him but stops himself short when the figure before him proved not to be human. 

An enormous quadrupedal creature came from the shadows. A build so massive that it splintered the bark as it walked closer to Claude, with more teeth than he had bones. Claude found himself thinking on a plan of action. 

This is unlike the beasts he found dead. No fur covers the flesh, instead, Claude finds plaques of silver scutes that cover its face and back. The demon’s dental frame is jagged, it’s teeth protruding from its rotting gums in angles. A tint of rustic red stains the enamel of the teeth, and a tongue so long that it curves out of the orifice, carrying the vocals that sound so alike Dimitri’s. 

In his life, he’s fought more fearsome-looking creatures, but the fact that this creature sounds so much like his friend makes him suspect the worst. With little margin for error, Claude takes aim, pulling the arrow back and directing it to the eyes. 

The yellow of its eyes stare back menacingly. A harrowing feeling when it presents no pupil. The entirety is yellow, no other ring of color can be found in those pools of tarnished gold. Claude’s fingers release the arrow, letting it shoot straight. It hits its target, but instead of incapacitating it, it ended up more aggravated. It lunges forward with the speed a creature that size should not carry. 

His instinct kicks in, he rolls out of the way, missing the bite that would in no doubt dismember him. It tore the edge of his cape but better that than skin. Presently Claude finds himself near the beasts’ hind legs. While the opportunity persists, he unclasps the hatchet from the belt and swings it, striking the demon behind a knee. The creature lost its footing when one of its legs failed to support it. It did not have the desired effect, the wound just wasn’t as deep as he’d hoped. Albeit devoid of scutes, the skin in that placement is leathery, making it hard to get a good cut. However, some blood did gush from the wound and onto his weapon and face. The warmth of it sticks to his skin, and from it, releases the smell of ammonium. A stench so strong it burns the eyes with the fumes and gets into his airways. It would inhibit his aim, no matter, at such close range it would be hard to miss. 

Claude sat the hand axe aside to instead equip more arrows from the quiver and begins to launch shots from a close distance. Arrows strike vital spots that weren't under the demon’s carapace, but no matter how many arrows were unleashed the beast would simply not go down. 

Bits of blood ooze from the small wounds. Thick and black in appearance, he considers the blood as spoiled rotten, but only then did Claude notice that the stench of ammonium began to intensify. He reached for one more arrow but the quiver felt empty upon his grasp. 

“Bad timing.” Quite possibly the worst time to run out of arrows, just as the demon began to retaliate. On an injured leg, it began to slowly turn around, the earth below quaking with every stomp. As the ground shakes Claude’s steps carry him backward to create more distance. He is an archer, after all, close-range just wasn’t his forte, which is why he has an axe. Speaking of which he picks it up and holds the hilt with two hands, the sharp metal of the axe glaring down at the demon. It had its blood once and it will have it again.

Six arrows protrude from different directions, perhaps six more were needed to end the carnage. Claude’s expression is a scowling one when the demon began to wrap its wicked tongue around its teeth in anticipation. 

What surprised Claude the most about the encounter is that the creature didn’t attack him outright, but instead, it unleashed gaseous essence onto him. A hazy cloud of purple, the cough it induced was enough to inform him that it was filled with toxins. 

The obvious choice now would be to run. 

He goes into a sprint before the poison catches up to him. No matter how much distance he thinks he’s gained, the demon sounds close behind. Growls echoes within the woods, making it seem like the demon is everywhere at once, further fueling his anxiety. 

Claude moves quickly, but, he could move faster if the snow didn’t resist him with every step. 

Still, he keeps moving forward, grabbing at the trees to stabilize him. At a few feet’s distance, he saw a clearing void of trees, so he ran to it, hoping that there may be something there to provide cover to hide in. 

His last step would be a mistake. Once he realized it was too late, he had run off the ledge and had commenced his steep drop. He lands ribs first on the incline and tumbled the rest of the way down, and with his grace, managed to hit his head several times over.

To say that it hurt would be an understatement. The pain Claude Von Riegan feels is immense, as if he injured every bone in his body on the way down. When he opened his eyes it was to see snowflakes dropping from the mighty sky. Slow in their descent, the only thing unchanging with time. 

He feels awfully cold, more so than usual, and it was only when he turned his head that he realized the perilous predicament he’s found himself in. Beneath him is a sheet of ice that’s cracking beneath his weight. He became very still, to the extent of omitting every other breath. The cracking of the ice stopped and he feels relieved for a few short seconds. 

While being very mindful of his movements Claude rolls to his side and attempts to lift his upper body with his arms. Just lifting his head caused him to succumb to dizziness and body weakness. His arms could not support his weight so he went right back down, further splitting the ice beneath. A pained groan leaves his lips, a result of all the pain he feels. If he survives this, hematomas will be the least of his worries. 

The crimson of his blood falls over the frozen lake, and in a matter of seconds, it too becomes frozen. His nose bleeds, the warmth of blood trails over his lips painting them red in the process. 

His body does not feel like his own, this one is way too heavy and in pain. His head throbs and feels as though his brain will split down the middle. It hurts to even think, just focusing his eyes is a task that he cannot manage. Still, he persists, he is on borrowed time after all. 

Pride be damned he manages to get on all fours and crawls as much as he’s allowed, only stopping when he hears the ice shake beneath him. 

From a distance he hears the demon, that sound is inescapable. He knows that no arrows are left in the quiver, speaking of which, he fractured that too on his landing. His hatchet fell out of his hand and slid on the ice, too far out of a comfortable reach. It if comes down to it, all he has is his dagger. Claude looks back and is frightened to see the demon jump off from the height above. It didn’t tumble like Claude’s meager self had done, no this thing jumped a few feet’s distance, looking to fall into the ice below. 

**_Oh no_ **

Newfound adrenaline urges him to get up and run. Claude gets up but can’t run, can barely walk as is, but he was able to limp what short distance he could. The demon segmented the ice with its weight, for all its thrashing, it just sunk faster into the frozen water below. 

Unfortunately, the ice splintered faster than Claude could reach land. The ice beneath his feet breaks into smaller pieces, the smaller of the two pieces begin to sink, submerging his foot underwater. It is freezing, numbingly cold in there, so Claude finds another ice cap, one that can support him. Quick steps, as quick as he can manage anyways, lead him to the most stable looking of the bunch. When he steps foot upon it, he slips and falls, causing the ice to dip at an angle. 

His legs, they touch water, and everything after feels frozen. This frozen extreme seems to slow down the blood flow, and as a result, the pain in his legs intensifies. As the cold continues to affect his nerves, the pain that surges through his body is more acute. Despite this, Claude holds on to the edge of the broken piece of ice as they sink. Anything to keep him breathing as long as possible. He would scream for help but he does not have the words, they’ve become chilled in his throat, entombed on a block of ice, forever unsaid. 

_Besides, it’s not like anyone would hear._

His lower half shakes the more he sinks, and every gasp of air that leaves his lips does so in the form of frosted air. Claude begins to cough, he sees blood splattering over the ice, could it be from internal injuries or Aspergillosis? That doesn’t matter now, he won’t die from either. If hypothermia doesn’t kill him, drowning surely will. 

His last thoughts are of Dimitri. He wants to tell him so much, about how he _truly_ feels, about how he had ever felt about him. Now he won’t have that chance and that physically hurts him, can feel his chest wind uptight with only coughs to alleviate the building pressure. From a distance he even sees him, running frantically to him. The conjuring of his mind is so elaborate it almost feels real. He cannot describe his vision in detail, his eyes see foggy, the edges of his sight fading to black. Nevertheless, when he sees a glimpse of that familiar hand, he feels tempted to reach, even if it’s only to humor his thoughts.

Death is far more peaceful than he expects.

  
  
  
  


When he wakes it is in a place that he cannot recognize. It takes but a moment for the eyes to adjust to the lighting, fickle red flicker as shadows paint the wall. The silver sky is replaced with what he assumes to be a cave - the weathering of rocks a momentary shelter for his body. Claude parts his lips to speak, he wants to call out for Dimitri, but the words, they never spill on to the air. Instead, he gasps for air, the tightness of his chest incapacitates him. Something inside him constricts, preventing his lungs from fully expanding, it’s the spores, it has to be. 

This is not the first of its occurrence, nor will it be the last. Magic induced ailments are harder to treat and even harder to believe of its existence. The longer he exists without a cure the more frequent he’ll have to endure these episodes. As of now, he’s only had one previous episode, though fortunately, this one’s tamer compared to the predecessor.

Claude feels something warm touch him amidst the wheezing. If he were asked to describe it, it feels like the blunt press of a hand. He cannot distinguish the size, or how many fingers, but he knows it’s a hand that tilts his head towards the fire. The chills become sedated as heat washes over his face. Claude closes his eyes then, too tired to keep them open. Even when he closes his eyes and cannot physically see it, it does not make the fire that burns any less real. It feels concrete as if something solid he could hold. And so he tries to, his hand longs to be burned, to feel something other than the winter storm within him. 

Slowly his eyes open, revealing the glint of the emerald jewels beneath. Fingers twitch the closer they get to the fire, the wild red, it calls to him and whispers words of mercy in the form of embers. So close to that blazing glory, he wants to be part of the ashes too. 

Dimitri’s hand clamps around his wrist, stopping him short of his goal. Though it is not without its own reward, his contact, it offers warmth too. In the end that’s all Claude wants. 

“Dimitri.” The lone Riegan coughs, rebuking the smoke that entered his lungs from the fire. 

“‘M cold.” As if the blue of his lips did not already hint to that. He noticed a hesitation within Dimitri, the blue of his eye did not wish to part from the dimming greens as if to say that if he lets go he will lose him again, _this time forever._ Dimitri didn’t have to say any of these things, Claude can pick up the body cues, even the subtle ones Dimitri used to make. That boy is still in there deep behind the armor. Claude knows this with certainty when Dimitri presses his thumb against the pulse joint of his wrist, just like he used to in the academy. The tranquil strokes on his wrist, it causes a different kind of chill to rise out of Claude. That prompts Dimitri to relinquish his hold over Claude. The unclasping of fingers left a vacant spot that only Dimitri could occupy once again. 

The man sitting next to him removes his cloak and drapes it over the laying figure, an hour after, a hint of color began to return to Claude’s countenance. 

Truth be told that in terms of physical pain, his body has improved thanks to the crest of Riegan. That being said, Claude has no notion that he will walk out of this unscathed, _oh no_ , his bruises and strains will take time to heal, this is more or less an anesthetic. At the moment he’s no longer wheezing or coughing, meaning his episode has situated. Though, that isn’t to say that it won’t happen again.

Dimitri is currently throwing more wood into the fire. As a Faerghus born male, he knows how to keep a fire alive (in more ways than one). Now is the time in which Claude simply observes. He studies how Dimitri’s body interacts with the things around him. He’s yet to discard his chainmail, either as a means to shelter against the cold or protect him from the beasts that lurk beyond this cave. 

_Perhaps the beast is already in the den alongside him._

His move sets are tense. His back is hunched over the fire, face entirely too close to the growing flame. Never afraid, not even on the potential of acquiring another blemish on his already perfect physique. He also notes that his wardrobe is in worse condition, tattered bits on the tunic and pants ruin his princely presentation. Cuts and scrapes here and there with blood that doesn’t belong to him. No matter how much Dimitri was to deny it, he is still a prince. 

**_His princeliness_** **.**

“Your princeliness.” He comments, waiting to gauge a reaction. **It happens** , that blank expression morphs into something else, annoyance. The thin lines of his deep curve deeper till, a downwards slope to showcase his distaste for the nickname. But even so, a shadow of pink creeps high on his cheeks all the same. It could be from embarrassment, or it could be from the heat, his pallid flesh does strike hot quite easily.

“I do not wish to degrade you any further but I’m afraid I need assistance in removing my pants.” He knows Dimitri meant well. Probably wanted to handle things modestly as to not give Claude the wrong impression. Imagine waking up only to find that your clothes are missing, one can deduct a few things from that. Still, he is and will be, eternally grateful for the rescue. 

Dimitri ignores him, can’t say he didn’t see it coming when worded so casually. He’ll just have to expand further on it. “Everything beneath my waist got wet, and is currently, wet. I’m colder because of it, plus it’s uncomfortable when they’re sticking to me so tightly.” Claude lifts up the cloak, the cold winter stings him, just as moving his arm instills a sensation of soreness. 

A wince, a sharp intake of air. 

“But I guess I can’t make you, you’ve done enough for me as it is.” On that note, he attempts to incline his back by using the forearms to support his weight. The muscles beneath the cloth-bound uptight and tender, though the sensation is manageable now under the effects of his crest. Once stable enough his hand moves to the hidden dagger and tucks it underneath his thigh, hoping that the motions were caught by Dimitri’s blindside. His hands go to his waist again, laying atop the sash intricately wrapped around his mid. He begins to unfurl it, slowly undoing the wrapping that kept him under one piece. The cloth becomes limp in his hands as he begins to fold it into a square shape. He moves his leg slightly to place that atop the dagger, alongside the adornments on the belt buckle. With less weight on him, his gestures become easier to act out. 

Claude stops short of lifting his knee when he feels Dimitri come around. His stature crowding over him, taking away the fire’s glow to provide his own in an all-consuming shadow. The blonde’s gaze fell to the other’s hip, watching as his tops stretched over the waist. His eye continues to move, following the trail of leg that leads to a boot. Everything is saturated. What was once dry and comfortable is now wet and constricting. Wet patches of cloth press tightly around Claude’s skin, accenting the curvature of his legs.

Dimitri begins by removing his boots. His hand finds the dip behind the knee and holds it firmly to steady Claude’s lower leg. With the other hand, he tugs the boot to remove it. His grasp slides on the slippery leather, the squeaks that follow louder than their shared silence. He moved on to the next leg when the time came.

Claude gulps when he felt those brazen hands move upside his legs. Curiously divulging in this act as he gets a feel of Claude’s legs, how much firmer they feel, how much bigger he’s become over the years. He’s able to fill Dimitri’s hands now that he too has grown bulkier, and part of himself is happy with that. Happy with the way Dimitri’s thumbs glide upon his thighs, pressing into the unmarked spaces, putting his signature over Claude. 

Claude feels sparks jolting inside him.

Those hands finally reach the top of Claude’s pants, and under one decisive act, Dimitri’s fingers hook underneath both undergarment and outerwear and pull downwards, revealing the shivering skin beneath. He tries to be gentle as best he can but his control is elusive, pulling Claude down in the process as well. The pants fit tight and it’ll take more patience than Dimitri is accustomed to, nevertheless, he tries, and keeps on trying until he successfully removes them. Dimitri takes the scrunched bundle and tosses it by the fire so that it may dry.

For the sake of modesty, Claude tugs the hem of his shirt and tapers it over his privates. Being half nude was not the intention but this was the cards he was dealt with. Quite honestly he finds it hard to answer Dimitri’s question once it arises.

“Better?” The blonde asks, his voice a rustic melody after so long of being nonverbal. The words become hard to come by, so Claude picks them carefully out of the thousands of things he wishes to say. 

“I’m still cold.” A truth so straightforward that even he doesn’t believe.

The lack of response from the other shouldn’t be surprising, but it is after hearing him speak. He wished to see those lips move, to see how they would spread open with a mention of his name. He may not get that but he did get something that made his breath hitch in his throat. Claude watched silently as Dimitri pinched his glove in between his teeth, removing the item until his hands were bare to the world. Flat scars embellished his palms and fingers, mapping out his life’s story in the cruelest of ways.

“I could try to...” Dimitri’s shyness kicks in, canceling his words in the worst of moments. So instead he lets his hands do the talking for him. Ivory pigments turn crimson when his face heats, his mouth clamping shut when he sees Claude gasp at his touch.

“Yes.” Claude grants him permission, he does not need to hear the words. 

From his calves to his thighs Dimitri’s hands roam, forming goosebumps on Claude’s skin with his careless friction. They generate heat, it’s not enough, but it’s a start. Their colors contrast one another, and yet when they meld, they do so beautifully. 

“Still cold.” Claude’s sound is breathy as he begins to lean back onto the ground, his hands on either side of Dimitri’s face, leading him downwards too. Dimitri’s lips follow in chaste, pressing against Claude’s own. They give delicate pecks to one another, building up the moments until their tongues intertwine. Their kisses are slow, set to a pace that wouldn’t overwhelm Claude. 

That being said, Dimitri allows for some space in between them as to take Claude’s fragile state into consideration. Claude in the other hand wants the complete opposite. He wants to be fully enveloped by this man. Wants to be eaten, ravaged by the lion before him until Claude Von Riegan as they know him ceases to exist. 

The lion’s claws push his thighs apart further, only to rake his nails on the inner thighs moments later. Any pain he had felt during the stretch has subsided with the ticklish feeling between his legs. With every touch, he feels the heat build-up inside his body, until he is no longer soft.

Claude’s lips unfold, the shivering audible when Dimitri takes him with his hand, slowly pumping his length, spurring him on until he reaches full arousal. He closes his eyes and focuses only on the feeling of Dimitri’s hand. How tight it squeezes him, and how good the ridges of his hand feels when it pulls back and forth. The slickness comes easy, and easier to spread around his cock. Sticky as Dimitri continues to get him off, Dimitri is so hot, feels so good, Claude is just showing him what a good job he’s doing. 

Teeth clamp on the softness of lip, compulsive and wild Dimitri becomes, but how can he not when it’s Claude who urges him on. Stretching his bottom lip out, he begins to take it in his mouth entirely to suck until it’s plump and red under his ministrations. 

His release sneaks upon him, his toes curl when it arrives. The sudden wetness between his legs alerts Dimitri of his release, covering his entire hand with his essence. Claude whines. The cramping of his lower stomach, alongside the tightening muscles of his legs, makes him feel tired. 

It’s embarrassing that he came so quickly, but can you blame him? It’s been over one hundred years since he’s last been intimate with someone.

The member between his legs has gone soft but Dimitri had other ideas in mind. He feels Dimitri’s hand fondle his sack, spreading traces of cum over them, making them shiny with his own release. His fingers then dive deeper in, into the cleft of his ass spreading the slick there too. 

At a glance he could see Dimitri unsheathe his arousal, taking himself on hand. Pumping faster than he did Claude, focusing his movements on the head of his cock. It looks bigger than he recalls, fuller, the curve, however, still remains. 

“Turn around.”

Two words that make Claude dizzy with want. Under regular circumstances, he’d do so without even being prompted. He’d take Dimitri whole, would want nothing more than to be used by Dimitri until he became a purring cat on top of him. To be by him in any context possible, even if it’s just sexual. He wants more, of course, but Dimitri lately has been hard to interpret, just like Claude had been hard to interpret in the past.

As much as he would love to, emphasizes on _love_ , Claude cannot do so in his current condition. He needs time to heal, he needs to be prepped, stretched open to take on Dimitri’s above average size again. Though there are other ways to achieve the same goal.

Dimitri, noticing Claude’s hesitation, slows down the pace of his hand. The swollen head leaks, twitching in his owner’s hand. Claude licks his lips, what a tempting sight.

“I’m going to cum on your back.” Dimitri stutters, as his thumb traces the vein of his cock. 

_Oh._

Who could say no to that? 

With Dimitri’s other hand on Claude’s hip, he helps give enough momentum for the turn. While on his stomach, he feels Dimitri tug up the back of his shirt. With his lower back exposed to the cool air, he craves Dimitri’s touch again, and he gets it. Dimitri gets on his knees, setting them proximal to Claude’s sides as he hovers over the back of Claude’s thighs.

Dimitri grabs the Almyrian’s cheeks, spreads them apart just to spit below his puckering hole. Dimitri relents the hold of one of his hands and grabs the base of his own cock with it. He uses the tip of his cock to smear the saliva on the deep line of the crevice. His precum mixes in, making everything all the more wetter so that his slide feels slick. 

The weight of Dimitri’s cock in between his asscheeks is an estranged feeling. He prefers Dimitri to be **inside** , actually fucking him, stretching him open with his girth, to be united. He could feel everything like that, the pain and the pleasure that comes with intimacy. 

This doesn’t give him that, but this isn’t for him.

He can feel Dimitri’s cock sliding, but what is more distinguished is the way his partner grabs handfuls of his ass, it’s sure to leave bruises. Pushing his cheeks so close together to mimic how it would feel on the inside, tight and wet. It’s not the same, it isn’t as satisfactory, but he can’t take him on, so at this point, beggars can’t be choosers. Nevertheless, despite knowing that this is just to get Dimitri off, the simple fact that he’s being used in this fashion is enough to encourage his enthusiasm to rise again. Pressed against the ground he can feel himself begin to harden again as he begins to absorb Dimitri’s body heat. 

Claude yelps when he feels Dimitri’s cock head almost push its way inside. The thrusts are more erratic, more spontaneous. Dimitri teases Claude with a few slip-ups, not intentional, but it riles Claude enough to grab the back of the blonde’s thighs when he inevitably slips up again and pushes him in against his better judgment. Claude’s body tenses and wails beneath him as he pushes Dimitri inside, not all the way in, just enough for the tip to get through the initial tightness. Claude feels the repercussions of his act when he feels the burning of his hole as it expands to house Dimitri’s large cockhead.

Dimitri cums while he’s technically inside Claude and pulls himself out mid-ejaculation. The rest he spills over Claude’s mounds and lower back. The thick white substance oozes out of his hole until inevitably the trail leads to his sack.

The encounter had left Claude sweaty underneath Dimitri. Well, it’s either sweat or cum, right now he doesn’t have the inclination to decipher which one, all he knows is that he feels wet. 

“Dimitri!” His voice rises in pitch, scandalized by the intrusion felt in his nether regions. A smooth entry, something long penetrates him but it isn’t a cock, it’s a finger judging by the width. Claude can feel Dimitri’s knuckle taunting his rim from the outside, showing him that he’s pushed himself all the way in, curling his finger inside Claude to stimulate the muscles.

Claude clenches around Dimitri when he came in contact with the prostate, a single touch is all it takes to overwhelm the nerves coursing through the body. His finger stayed there, pressing against it, as if massaging it, making his legs jittery in the process. Claude gasps, his upper body twitches in a whine of its own. He tries to sit up, there’s just too much energy within him and he has to move, release the excess somehow. But he cannot, was not allowed more like when Dimitri kept him down with his other hand. He felt the hand start at the base of his spine and then move upwards to his mid-back, following the path Claude’s spine laid out for him. Claude’s shirts move higher in the process, and with that action, ended up revealing more of Claude’s skin to the environment. 

Goosebumps form because of the chill, or perhaps from the pleasure, maybe from both who knows. All he knows is that Dimitri rubs his back, the movement of his hand up and down, following the stretch of the spine, spreading his own cum over Claude evermore. Massaging it into his skin until he feels sticky until he smells like Dimitri’s funk. He’s being claimed by Dimitri’s animalistic ways, his urges, and Claude can’t say he doesn’t like it.

“You want me inside you.” Dimitri rarely speaks, but when he does his words are powerful. He chooses them wisely to not waste breath. Everything he says means something, unlike Claude who says too much and it doesn’t mean anything. This is not a question, this is a statement. Regardless, Claude felt the need to answer, and he does it with a sob as Dimitri pushes another finger in. 

_“Yes.”_ Claude expresses a moment of weakness, but the trade-off is so much more. He feels fuller with two fingers. They work him open as they spread inside, stimulating him until he’s a moaning mess underneath. 

“So take me,” Dimitri says, and so Claude does. He accepts his fingers greedily as they push in and out of him in quick succession. Still feeling the friction where both their bodies unite because no matter how much they wish it, cum is just not a lubricant.

The muscles of Claude’s abdomen tighten as the pressure builds inside him with every second that passes. The squelching sounds feel obscene but he can’t feel embarrassed about it, not when Dimitri inserts a third finger. There was a time during their academy days in which Claude could claim that he had Dimitri wrapped around his finger, years later it’s quite the opposite, now it is Dimitri who has Claude wrapped around his finger, _literally_. 

Dimitri could tell Claude was close when his hole began to clamp around the fingers, keeping them locked in. Dimitri begins to alternate the movements of his digits so that each one of his fingers could massage the prostate at different intervals. Claude’s legs laid out begin to shake, his limit reached at his lover’s, _yes lover_ , insistent need to watch his body convulse.

He cums harder the second time around. 

Against his better judgment, Claude just cannot find the words, so he settles for the untitled meaning of his moans. Dimitri helps his orgasm ride out by slowly continuing his ministrations, pushing the three fingers deeper in, curling them over the prostate when the need arises. 

Claude feels like he could cry, and at one point he does after the second wave wrecks him. Every sensation is heightened, this is when the effects of his crest begins to wane. The pleasure offsetting the pain, his body no longer recognizing a need. Claude bemoans when Dimitri pulls out his fingers, leaving his hole stretched and leaking with his lover’s earlier release.

In their earlier life, they would be all lazy smiles by now, following one another into sleep under tender poses, but this is no such life. Not anymore. Now he takes what he can get and that’s Dimitri rearranging them both so that they’re on their sides facing one another. Claude’s back facing the fire, the shimmering glow contouring his outlines. There is no more wood left to rekindle the fire, so when it eventually dies out, they’ll have to depend on one another for warmth. 

Dimitri grabs his cloak and stretches it over them both, the warmth that sets is an immediate thing. Then he feels Dimitri’s arm come around his nude waist, pressing them together, forcing them to mold as one. Their breathing is shallow, but slowly, it regains a sense of normalcy. 

Claude wants his pants back but decides not to speak out on it in fear of ruining the moment. Albeit a small skirmish, it put so much into perspective about Dimitri. In some way, shape, or form, he still wants Claude. Claude just had to figure out in what way. Was it a physical, just as they used to be? Or are they skirting on the border of something more? Given enough clues, he could figure it out. 

“What are we?” He asks when it’s quiet. Whispers it when he thinks Dimitri is asleep. He needs to know, and just as equally, is afraid to know the answer.

“Alive.” Comes Dimitri’s answer. One word, too simple a thing, but that’s Dimitri’s answer so he accepts it. Claude is a patient man, he’s waited over one-hundred years, and if the goddess is as merciful as she sounds, perhaps she’ll grant them one-hundred more.


End file.
